It's after 4am and I haven't fallen asleep yet. Something tells me I won't. I've been reading through old posts, something I do from time to time. It still surprises me how much I can learn about myself by looking back. I have no way of knowing whether or not my blog has impacted anyone else. Especially considering that no one seems to be interested in talking about anything I write here, with me. But it's probably most important that it has given some meaning to my life. If I have ever considered the possibility that I'm not actually bipolar, this blog is a hard slap to my face. The cyclical nature of my illness is undeniable in my writing. Almost all of the time I'm fluctuating between extremes. Days of euphoria and productivity, followed by dread, grief and self-loathing. I don't know if I've made any progress in managing these episodes but I'm learning. Maybe that's my purpose for now, to put pieces together, store information for later. Maybe these insights will prove to be helpful when I most need them. Who knows.
Lately I've been thinking I would really like to make writing my life. I don't know yet in what capacity and it may be most realistic to believe that my writing will be confined to this blog. But I would really love to do it. To make something of it, and beautiful things with it. I could do that, right? I think part of this sudden urge is because I've been feeling really hopeless about school. I mean, I've felt this way about school many times before. I've even considered that maybe school just isn't for me, that it's not in my life path. But I think the desire to center my life around writing is based in a passion for self-expression, a sense of urgency to decrease stigma and to tirelessly advocate for others who experience mental illness. This, at the core of my being, is what I believe I'm here to do. And I think I should be able to do that, to focus on that. But I'll probably need to work in a capacity that society deems acceptable. Because otherwise, my crazy ass is worth nothing.
This is probably entirely unintelligible and the ranting of manic zombie but I thought I'd say something before I plunge back into studying and the final countdown. Stick around, good stuff is on the way. At least that's what I keep telling myself.
BBL
Monday, May 30, 2016
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
Locked in
The beast has got me locked in a grip so unbelievably tight
I can't seem to shake him off.
In truth, he's been latched on for months and
I just haven't wanted to admit it to myself.
Or maybe I didn't see him
for what he was,
is.
And then I started seeing my psychiatrist
again.
She added a little dose of lithium to my psychopharmaceutical medley
and I had a renewed sense of hope.
A good few days where I thought I had found a door,
the beast's weak spot,
a way out.
But now I'm here
and it's hard to put words together
Nothing feels real
and I'm living for everyone else
but myself.
I'm trying to do everything
they all want me to
but it's hard
and it's still not enough
to release me from the beast's
cold
hard
claws.
It feels like there's nothing left
for me to be.
This is all I am. Just this.
I can't seem to shake him off.
In truth, he's been latched on for months and
I just haven't wanted to admit it to myself.
Or maybe I didn't see him
for what he was,
is.
And then I started seeing my psychiatrist
again.
She added a little dose of lithium to my psychopharmaceutical medley
and I had a renewed sense of hope.
A good few days where I thought I had found a door,
the beast's weak spot,
a way out.
But now I'm here
and it's hard to put words together
Nothing feels real
and I'm living for everyone else
but myself.
I'm trying to do everything
they all want me to
but it's hard
and it's still not enough
to release me from the beast's
cold
hard
claws.
It feels like there's nothing left
for me to be.
This is all I am. Just this.
Friday, May 20, 2016
25
The universe and I aren't on speaking terms right now.
She's keeping me here without any explanation or without the tools to figure it out myself.
I guess I'm really angry and don't want to be here.
My twenty-fifth birthday was incredibly emotional. I've put off writing about it for a while now, probably because I wanted to chalk it up to social anxiety and one too many mimosas.
Turns out it was a "gift" from the universe, although she arrived unannounced and without an invitation.
I organized brunch to celebrate my birthday because I wanted an opportunity to see a lot of my friends without having a party at my house that I'd have to clean up afterward or at some cringey bar that would cost me money to drink alcohol that I didn't really like, for a hangover I certainly would regret. Even though I was unable to make a majority of the phone calls to places around town, with the help of Katie and my mom I found a cafe that was nice enough to seat a 15+ group of people on a Sunday morning during their peak business hours. The guys at the cafe were wonderful and when I think about how much work they did to make my birthday great, I still feel a tenderness. They even asked my mom if there was music I would like to listen to and they put it on the system so that we could hear it from the patio. She chose a band that I grew up listening to and in many ways kept me alive. There was one song in particular by this band, that resonated with me and was the cry for help I was unable to articulate.
The baristas, in cahoots with the universe, put that song on blast. I recognized it immediately and gave my mom a look I hoped she would understand. She did and I began to cry.
This song I listened to everyday and was the first song I asked to listen to in the car when I was discharged from the hospital. I still remember sitting in the car with the song ringing in my ears and pounding in my chest. It sounded like freedom and life renewed.
Now over ten years later, among friends and breakfast bagels, I cried for that 14 year-old girl. That young girl who never would have guessed, hell was CONVINCED that she wouldn't be around that long. There were days that girl didn't want to live to see that day, because everyday was filled with pain. Every new day was another twenty-four hours of suffering.
And I cried later when we came back to the house and had mimosas.
And I cried next to the fire, singing to my anthem.
And I cried in private. Then I slept.
I'm still unsure of what do now, or where to go from here. The universe has given me more time, more than I know what to do with or even want. I guess if there were a time to "seize the day", it would be now and for however many days she keeps me here. I'm supposed to be grateful or something, right? Now I have to "live life to the fullest" and make something of myself. She's forced my fucking hand.
So yeah, you could say she and I aren't getting along.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I'm supposed to feel better
this nightmare is supposed to end
I am holding on,
I am holding on,
I am holding on,
I am holding on
She's keeping me here without any explanation or without the tools to figure it out myself.
I guess I'm really angry and don't want to be here.
My twenty-fifth birthday was incredibly emotional. I've put off writing about it for a while now, probably because I wanted to chalk it up to social anxiety and one too many mimosas.
Turns out it was a "gift" from the universe, although she arrived unannounced and without an invitation.
I organized brunch to celebrate my birthday because I wanted an opportunity to see a lot of my friends without having a party at my house that I'd have to clean up afterward or at some cringey bar that would cost me money to drink alcohol that I didn't really like, for a hangover I certainly would regret. Even though I was unable to make a majority of the phone calls to places around town, with the help of Katie and my mom I found a cafe that was nice enough to seat a 15+ group of people on a Sunday morning during their peak business hours. The guys at the cafe were wonderful and when I think about how much work they did to make my birthday great, I still feel a tenderness. They even asked my mom if there was music I would like to listen to and they put it on the system so that we could hear it from the patio. She chose a band that I grew up listening to and in many ways kept me alive. There was one song in particular by this band, that resonated with me and was the cry for help I was unable to articulate.
The baristas, in cahoots with the universe, put that song on blast. I recognized it immediately and gave my mom a look I hoped she would understand. She did and I began to cry.
This song I listened to everyday and was the first song I asked to listen to in the car when I was discharged from the hospital. I still remember sitting in the car with the song ringing in my ears and pounding in my chest. It sounded like freedom and life renewed.
Now over ten years later, among friends and breakfast bagels, I cried for that 14 year-old girl. That young girl who never would have guessed, hell was CONVINCED that she wouldn't be around that long. There were days that girl didn't want to live to see that day, because everyday was filled with pain. Every new day was another twenty-four hours of suffering.
And I cried later when we came back to the house and had mimosas.
And I cried next to the fire, singing to my anthem.
And I cried in private. Then I slept.
I'm still unsure of what do now, or where to go from here. The universe has given me more time, more than I know what to do with or even want. I guess if there were a time to "seize the day", it would be now and for however many days she keeps me here. I'm supposed to be grateful or something, right? Now I have to "live life to the fullest" and make something of myself. She's forced my fucking hand.
So yeah, you could say she and I aren't getting along.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I'm supposed to feel better
this nightmare is supposed to end
I am holding on,
I am holding on,
I am holding on,
I am holding on
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